


undo

by SayHiDestery



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Compliant, Evan Hansen is a distressed bisexual, I am making this up as I go, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Canon, Treebros, conev, tags will be added and ratings might change, technically????, time travel fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayHiDestery/pseuds/SayHiDestery
Summary: Evan Hansen is 25 when the ghost of Connor Murphy offers him a second chance.  Not just a chance to tell the truth, but a second chance at Connor's life.  A chance to woo Zoe, to befriend Connor, to help Alana, to reconcile with Jared.  None of this, of course, happens the way he wants it to.





	1. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At twenty-five years old, Evan would like a little more luck and for Connor Murphy's memory not to linger. He gets the exact opposite of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you babe for beta-ing this at midnight <3
> 
> i wrote most of this in one go please be gentle

       The year was 2025.

       The clouds started crawling together when Evan was halfway to work.  He was lucky enough to live so close to his work that he could walk - he still hated driving.  However, instances like this reminded him of the inconvenience it posed for him: if it ended up raining, as it often did on the east coast, then the multiple plants hanging out on his terrace could drown, all depending on how much of a downpour they got.  He took a mental inventory of the last rotation of plants he had out on his terrace and outwardly grimaced when he remembered he had a couple of his more sensitive orchids out today. He checked his phone out of habit, thumbing the message Alana sent him last night about lunch today.  He thought it would probably be rude to decline lunch and then turn around and ask her to drag his pots in for him.

       He checked the time: 7:32 a.m.  He only had another eighteen minutes before he needed to be in to his work; his team had a meeting today with Hunnewell Conservation Area’s team and Evan was in charge of note taking.  He was the fastest typer on the team, after all. All that meant was that he had no time to turn around and go back home. He’d just have to hope for the best. He really didn’t want those orchids to die - his boss had given those to him as a gift.

       Luck was hardly ever on his side, however.  One would think that twenty-five years into life, Evan would have gotten the hint.  But like his mother fondly told him all his life, Evan wasn’t the best at picking up hints.  A kid in his class he hardly knew killing himself with a letter Evan wrote in his pocket wasn’t big enough of a hint, and neither was God himself apparently shitting what could easily be classified as a hurricane on Boston when Evan stepped out of work.  So he had to run all the way back to his apartment in the pseudo-hurricane. Luckily (ha), the nice lady who had an off-the-menu tofu dog waiting for him every day after work had shut down her hotdog and burger stand early so he didn’t have to rudely run right past her.  That seemed to be the only good thing about the day. It was quickly displaced by the  _ Out of Service  _ sign on the elevator in his building, so he had to hustle up five floors of stairs to reach his apartment.  Then, he had to drag all six twenty-five pound pots in under his terrace. And  _ then _ , he had to precariously balance the pots of their bottom edges to tip out the water pooling on top of the over-saturated soil.

       When it was all over and his plants were (hopefully) safe, Evan collapsed on the tile of his kitchen in a heap of soaking-wet clothes and dirty hands.  He gave a loud, long-suffered groan that echoed in his apartment.  _ Dear Evan Hansen, today was a shitty day,  _ he thought bitterly to himself.  He closed his eyes, his nose smushed uncomfortably against the tile and making it a little hard to breathe, but he deserved this small rest. 

       Anya had different ideas.

       Anya was his golden retriever-german shepherd mix service dog.  She was three living, breathing years of Evan’s hard work and his biggest achievement.  He wouldn’t have traded those three grueling years of saving up for her for anything else.  She wedged her black snout underneath his shoulder and tried to nose it up. She gave a huff that sounded loud right next to his ear when he just flopped back onto the tile.  She wedged her nose in farther and gave a low whine, a sound he assumed she knew he couldn’t stand.

       He groaned and rolled onto his back, looking up at her.  She was a very beautiful dog, with a fiery personality that helped Evan gain his confidence.  He sighed, cocking his head to the side when she stared down at him intently. “What?” She bent forward and started to lick his cheek insistently, making his giggle like a child. “Are you telling me I’m dirty? You? Who likes to dig out my soil and  _ roll in it _ ? Seriously?” He laughed, threading his fingers through her long coat.  He scratched around her neck before she huffed at him and he laughed again, rolling up onto his butt and then standing.  She followed him along to the bathroom, watching aptly as he ran the bath and undressed, wagging her tail all the while. He could remember how, when he first got her, her watching him undress had made him  _ so  _ uncomfortable.  He didn’t grow up with any animals - his dad didn’t like them, his mom was allergic, and Jared wasn’t allowed to have any.  Anya was his first and her rapt attention with him was incredibly disconcerting at first. But that was her job, he came to realize.  It didn’t take very long for him to get comfortable with her and her attention to him. In fact, he had grown to love how much she seemed to care for him and how seriously she took her job.  She was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

       Anya took to laying on the bathroom floor lazily while he bathed.  With no discernible cause, her ears perked up suddenly and looked towards his discarded pants.  She always did that when he was about to get a phone call - he had no clue how she knew, but she did.  Sure enough, the default ringtone of his phone started going off and he had to awkwardly lean halfway out of the tub to dig his phone out of his pocket.  It was Alana. He was going to feel awful if he ignored her two times in a row so, despite being naked and bathing, he answered.

       “H-Hello?”

       “Evan?” She didn’t sound angry.  Yet.

       “Alana! Hi!” He tried to sound perky.

       She gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not mad that you didn’t get back to me, Evan, it’s alright.   Also, why do sound like you’re in a bathroom?”

       Evan cleared his throat. “I-”

       “Are you talking to me while you  _ poop?  _ That’s so gross, Evan, really?” She started laughing despite herself.

       Evan blushed scarlet, his voice raising in pitch. “What?! No, I’m not- I am not  _ pooping,  _ Alana. Really? Poop jokes? You’re in Harvard, for God’s sake. Why would I-”

       “Is that water? I can hear water.”

       “No, it’s-”

       “Evan  _ Hansen,  _ are you  _ naked  _ and on the  _ phone _ with me right now?” She snickered.

       Evan frowned indignantly, even though she couldn’t see it. “Stop sounding so scandalized, Alana, you can’t even see me.”

       She gave one last polite giggle. “That’s true. I called you for a reason, actually. Jared Kleinman sent me an email today asking if I had any contact with you. I’m going to assume you want me to say-”

       “No.”

       “Yeah, I kinda figured,” she sighed again, sounding almost disappointed. “I’ll email him back and say I haven’t talked to you since… graduation?”

       “The Project.”

       “Got it.”

       “Thanks, Alana.”

       She paused, not immediately responding.  That was never a good sign, considering Alana lived for praise. “You know,” she started, and Evan immediately made a noise of disagreement.

       “We’ve had this talk before, Alana, and my answer hasn’t changed.  If Jared has changed since high school, that’s great, but I don’t want to talk to him again.  I just- Alana, I’ve made so much progress in myself. I have, haven’t I?”

       “Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, you have.”

       “Right,” he breathed with relief. “So, I don’t want to reconnect with someone that made me feel so shitty in the first place.  Okay?”

       “Yeah,” she sighed, this time sounding defeated, but not heartbroken about it.  Like she was expecting it. “I understand, Evan, I do. I just… you guys were close once.  I like to think that could happen again. Maybe that’s just me. Anyways, I have a paper to write and sixty others to grade.  Lunch tomorrow? I know you don’t work, so you can’t say no.”

       Evan laughed, his head knocking against the shower wall. “Well, when you say it like that.”

       “ _ Ever Ling’s _ at two-thirty sharp, okay?” 

       “Okay.”

       “Enjoy your dirty human soup water!”

       “ _ Good night,  _ Alana.” He hung up first, tossing his phone safely back to his jeans.  He almost always had a smile on his face after their calls. It wasn’t a new thing.

       After a year of working for Pottery Barn, Evan finally worked up the courage to start writing scholarship essays.  He won two out of the thirteen he submitted, giving him enough money to get through his first two years at Boston University without dipping into his savings.  His savings paid for his boarding, his food, his books, and his lab fees. Pottery Barn was nice enough to transfer him out to a store near his school and switch him to part-time.  So, he worked part-time all the way up until his third year into his biology degree when a botanist from a recently opened medical marijuana clinic came into his class to talk to almost sixty undergraduate college students about medical marijuana for one hour and thirty minutes.  It was the most unexpected thing to change his life. Something compelled him that day to stay after class and talk with the speaker. That just so happened to be one of the best decisions he ever made, right after starting the scholarship essays in the first place.

       The botanist’s name was Henry Knoles, and he was a lead researcher at the clinic.  The clinic was composed of doctors who saw patients and prescribed the marijuana, and botanists or biologists who researched the different strains and partnered with doctors to go over how patients responded to the different strains.  It really wasn’t something that should have interested Evan as much as it did. For whatever reason, something in the back of his mind the whole time screamed  _ Connor Murphy,  _ and  _ that  _ is what compelled him to approach Henry.

       Henry had found Evan to be oddly charming and offered to take him out for a drink and talk more with him.  “I know you’ve got places to be, son. Here’s my card. Give me a call sometime today before dark and we can meet up for a beer.  I’d like to talk about the possibility of you becoming an intern.”

       Evan made that call, met Henry (who found it oddly adorable that Evan had a Sprite while Henry had an IPA), and an intern he became.  He interned for a year and a half, somehow managing to strike this incredibly stressful balance of work, school, and interning. He got into a roll of school in the morning, intern the afternoon, school in the evening, and work all weekend.  He survived a year and a half that way, until glorious salvation in the form of graduation fell upon him and Henry made him an  _ assistant  _ botanist. 

       And really, what better could he hope for with a bachelor’s degree?

       He’d been an assistant botanist for almost nine months now, and he couldn’t be happier.  He got to study and give insight on the making of pharmaceuticals for people with chronic pain and mental illness.  His boss  _ loved  _ dogs, so Anya could follow him to work whenever he wanted as long as she wore protective gear (which Henry bought for him as a welcome-to-the-team gift.) He made a decent salary and lived cheaply due to the owner of the clinic’s wife owning the building.  All he had to pay was utilities and a third of his rent and the rest of that would-be rent went into savings for graduate school. He had run into Alana by chance three years back and they made up, then slowly and tepidly cultivated the comfortable friendship they had today. Life had fallen into place perfectly for him, and he felt so,  _ so  _ guilty.

       Connor Murphy never left his mind for longer than a day.  No amount of therapy or coaching could ever make Evan forget about him.  Connor bled into every happy moment of Evan’s life thereafter his death, tainting it with thoughts of  _ “Connor will never get to have this,”  _ and  _ “Maybe if I had paid more attention, Connor would get to have this.”   _ It sucked, but Evan considered it his penance for the havoc he rained on Connor’s family almost nine years ago.  For all the lives he ruined that day.

       Suddenly, his bath felt very cold.

       He sighed deeply, because he didn’t even wash himself like he meant to.  He unplugged the drain and stood, rinsing off with the shower head. He washed his hands in the sink when he dried off and resigned to take a real shower tomorrow.  He only had the will to step into fresh underwear before he fell face-first into his bed with a groan of pleasure-pain. He landed at the same time a strike of lightning hit, spooking Anya and sending her jumping into bed after him.  His laugh was cut short when her paws landed square on his kidneys, knocking the air clean out of him. He recovered quickly enough, rolling onto his side so she could comfortably turn about until she plopped down in bed next to him. He never bothered with getting her a dog bed - she  _ loved  _ cuddling.  He patted her soothingly, placing the covers over them both.  It never ceased to tickle him how she laid her head on his other pillow like a person.  He fell into his own pillow with a sigh and held his breath as she wiggled her way over to him, until her back was flush against his thigh and side.  He snickered to himself, a mindless smile overcoming his face.

       He reached over his bedside table and turned on the radio, keeping the volume low so he had some white noise.  It was a habit he took up after coming clean to the Murphys. His demented hallucination of Connor sat up with him nightly, reminding him of how worthless and horrible he was.  So, he started to listen to the radio at night until Connor stopped talking. Until Connor stopped showing up altogether.

       He feared the day he stopped listening to the radio at night.

       “...sides experiencing all kinds of electrical problems, we are also seeing an increase of people coming into the hospital complaining of headaches, migraines, increased anxiety, the like.  This storm is having a funny effect on people, don’t you think, Stewart?” The sweet, candid voice of the late night hostess, Amy Christian-Gacy, had a near-immediate effect of calming him. His eyelids had grown heavy and he felt his breathing begin to slow.  The world grew warm and lucid, until it disappeared altogether, and all he could hear was the thunder and the rain and Amy Christian-Gacy telling him how fucking  _ disgusting you are, Evan Hansen, look at what you’ve  _ **_done_ ** _ to them. _

_        You broke their hearts. _

_        You  _ **_killed_ ** _ them, Evan, you killed m- _

       He sat up sharply in bed, inhaling like he hadn’t taken a breath in years.  It startled Anya awake, who sat up immediately and began to give Evan kisses on his neck and shoulder comfortingly.  He laughed, patting her in what he  _ hoped  _ felt reassuring despite his trembling hands.  He laughed again, bordering on hysteric, because that voice in his dream had sounded an awful lot like-

       “Missed me?” 

       Evan’s head snapped up and his heart stopped in his chest.

       “Connor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....alrighty. find me on tumblr @weirdshitdotnet
> 
> comments are nice and inspiring
> 
> Ben Platt could murder me and I would thank him


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of Connor Murphy is not a cruel as Evan remembers. A chance is taken. Don't touch lightning, kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wrote the this and the last chapter in the same 24-hour span and had no plans to continue it.... posted the last chapter on a whim. 
> 
> uh, so as of today I've received quite a few comments and kudos and- long story short, there is now a story map with at least nine chapters planned out and counting. i'm really excited for this. thanks guys <3

        “The one and only,” Fake Connor said, because Real Connor was  _ dead and rotten in the ground a billion miles away from him. _

        Evan turned back to Anya, trying to confirm that he was awake, but that proved to be useless.  Anya was frozen next to him mid-lick, like someone had pressed pause on the world around them. He couldn’t even hear the rain anymore.  Evan looked back again, hesitantly, and yep, Connor was still there. He stood with his hands braced along the footboard of Evan’s bed. His hair looked slightly damp, or maybe it was just greasy.  He didn’t… he looked  _ different  _ than Evan remembered him.  Smaller, thinner, and maybe paler.  He still loomed taller than Evan, but he didn’t have the same dominant factor he held before.  He didn’t make Evan feel powerless, only sad and a little nauseated.

        Evan swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, mouth opening and closing uselessly.  There were so many things he wanted to say, to yell, to ask, but none seemed to be able to roll past the rock in his esophagus.

        “Walk with me,” Connor said suddenly.

        Evan grimaced. “It’s storming outside.”

        Connor made a show of looking up at the ceiling and then back at Evan. “I don’t hear any rain.  Do you?”

        Evan swallowed hard, and he didn’t like how he noticed Connor track the movement. “I- I’m not wearing any clothes.”

        Connor raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then put some on.”

        Evan flushed, recalling to mind the few times Connor had been in Evan’s room when Evan was changing and all the  _ awful, cruel  _ things he said to Evan about his body, his weight, his  _ legs- _

        This time, Connor made no comment about the scars on Evan’s legs, probably since they were very faded.  Instead, he gave Evan a quick up-and-down and smirked, shooting a wolf whistle after him when Evan’s back was turned, making his shoulders hitch up near his ears in embarrassment.  He pulled on the first jeans and t-shirt he could find and shot one last concerned look at Anya before he followed Connor out the door. Connor walked through his apartment with concerning ease.  It wasn’t a very cluttered place, but he walked like he knew exactly where he was going. Evan took the moment to assess This Connor from the back. He wore a clean, white button-up shirt with a black, hoodless jacket, both of which Evan could not recall ever seeing on Connor before.  He wore simple blue jeans and combat boots, and his hair fell around his face in a controlled sort of chaos. Connor continued to surprise Evan with his sureness as he lead them out to and down the fire escape, catching Evan easily by the arm when he nearly slipped on a particularly slick stair.  

        Outside, the rain was frozen in its descent, the sky still lit up post-lightning strike, and trees were frozen leaning to one side with a nonexistent wind.  It was all quickly becoming one of the strangest dreams Evan had ever had to date.

        As though he could read minds, Connor said, “I suppose you think you’re dreaming, right?”

        “Uh,” Evan said out of habit, then, “well, yeah.  Obviously. I am.”

        Connor shook his head; his hair was oddly bouncy.  “No, you aren’t. Well, I guess you are  _ technically _ , but this is all really happening.  I am what you think I am: a fucking ghost.  We’re just kinda in a different plane or something.” He looked back at Evan’s perplexed expression and waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t even  _ think  _ about asking me any weird questions, I don’t know jack shit about how any of this works.  All I know is that I was peacefully not-existing, and then my not-existence had a thought, and  _ boom! _ ” He clapped for affect, startling Evan. “Here I am.”

        “Here you are,” Evan agreed.  He was so focused on Connor that he lost track of their surroundings, so he soon found himself in a field of tall grass.  The field of grass was frozen in various states of waving with a still wind. Without really thinking, Evan said, “It’s kinda dangerous to be out here in the middle of a storm.  Lightning strikes the tallest object.”

        Connor snorted. “You aren’t the tallest thing here,  _ buddy _ .”

        Evan hummed. “Yeah, but you’re dead.”

        Connor swung around sharply like he was going to hit Evan, but he didn’t.  He didn’t look mad or upset or offended, like Evan feared he might right after saying that.  He just stopped with startling suddenness and faced Evan, evaluating him. He seemed to look right through Evan for a few moments before saying with shocking gentleness, “That guilt is killing you, Evan.”

        Evan looked nothing but startled. “I… what?”

        “I’m not your hallucination, Evan,” Connor explained to him. “I’m not going to yell at you or call you disgusting.  The last time we saw each other, Evan, I was alive. I really am me. Just, y’know, my body is ditched... somewhere.”

        “Gladstone cemetery, fifth aisle, twenty-second row,” Evan filled in without prompting.  

        Connor sniggered, bordering on a snort. “You didn’t even attend the funeral, how do you know that?”

        “How did you know I didn’t attend the funeral?”

        Connor just shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Everyone attends their own funeral, Evan.” The way he said it was like he was regarding the weather.

        That information made Evan’s stomach roll unpleasantly.  He felt nauseated, a little dizzy, and very confused. It was a distant, disconnected kind of confusion; the kind where one thinks this isn’t really happening.  But it is happening, dream or not, it’s  _ happening  _ and Connor is  _ here  _ and Evan is so,  _ so- _

        “Let’s say,” Evan wheezes out around the rock in his throat, desperate to speak and not think. “Let’s say I believe you, okay?  I’m not saying that I- that I do, but- let’s pretend,” Evan said, splaying his hands out in front of him like he was trying to calm Connor down, when really it was just Evan desperately wishing for the world to slow down.  Which was funny, because the world was currently on pause all around him. 

        “Okay,” Connor chuckled, his smile easy and disarming.  It made Evan’s stomach roll a little harder. He was watching Evan like one watches a baby figure out how to stand up: one part interest, one part worry, three parts amusement.

        Evan took a shuddering breath. “Why are you here? Why- Why-”

        “You,” Connor interrupted him, almost gently, like he wanted to cut off Evan’s inevitable rambling but didn’t want to be rude about it.   _ That  _ was funny because, like, one out of two of their interactions included Connor shoving Evan unprompted.  The other, well… “You are the only one who believes in me enough to give me an in.”

        “‘An in’?”

        “People won’t see what they don’t want to believe.  My family-”

        “I’m sorry,” Evan whined, his heart careening through his chest and down past his feet.  His mouth opened like he wanted to say more, but it snapped shut with a sick  _ click _ sound when Connor reached out toward him.  

        His palm was cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly.  Evan flinched anyway. Connor rested his palm against Evan’s cheek and brushed away a tear Evan didn’t know escaped.  His expression was carefully blank. No sympathy, no pity, no disgust. 

        Evan felt heat flood to his cheeks and he whispered, “I haven’t dreamt about you in years.”

        Connor’s expression faltered.  It edged towards annoyed first, but a sly smile won out as he dropped his hand and wiped it on his pants. “You used to dream about me?” He cocked an eyebrow at him under all that hair.  It was a nice expression on him: teasing and carefree. Evan wondered if Alive Connor ever wore such an expression. "That's kinda weird, dude."

        “I’m dreaming,” Evan remembered out loud, ignoring him. “You aren’t real.”

        Connor smiled at him, his pleased expression contradicting his next question. Or, maybe, This Connor was just as cruel as the last.. “Are you afraid of me?”

        Evan’s eyes flitted back and forth between Connor’s, who was standing too close for Evan to breathe right.  “I’m afraid of what you remind me of,” Evan admitted. In that distant, disconnected way Evan thought when he thought about something particularly fucked up, he wondered how Connor looked in his casket.  

        Connor couldn’t have possibly  _ not  _ heard Evan speak - the world is too quiet around them - so he ignored Evan to look up and regard the frozen sky.  Evan looked as well, curious. The sky was different shades of purplish-gray, still slightly lit up from a recent strike of lightning.  Little veins of electricity lingered in its place like an afterimage.

        “Do you regret it?”

        Evan looked back down, noting the Connor was further away than he had been before. “What?”

        “Do you regret it?” Connor repeated unhelpfully, then added, “Lying, I mean.”

        “Of course I do,” Evan scoffed, like he couldn’t believe his hallucination would ask.  Fake Connor called him out on his guilt and regret all the time. But, Evan reminded himself, This Connor said that he  _ wasn’t  _ Fake Connor, so maybe it was a little more plausible for him to ask.  And now he was talking to-  _ thinking  _ to himself.  He wished he would just wake up. 

        Sound had apparently rushed out and Evan didn’t notice, but he certainly did when it rushed back in and Connor spoke again. “What would you do differently?”

        Evan looked up from the spot on the ground he had suddenly found so interesting, expression wary, like he didn’t understand what he was being asked. “Um, I mean- Obviously, I wouldn’t have lied in the first place.  I would- I’d tell your parents the letter was mine.”

        Connor seemed to consider his answer for a moment, hands slipped into the pockets of his jeans and regarding the world around them.  His expression was oddly prudent. “You wouldn’t just stop me from dying?”

        Evan made a strangled sound, instinctively leaning his weight back and away from Connor and letting his eyes gravitate back towards the ground.  “I-” Evan wiped at his face with the heels of his hands. “Would you have even wanted that? Like, isn’t that immoral? To dictate a person’s life like that?”

        Connor snorted.  His eyebrows rose towards his hairline and his eyes widened comically. “Okay. Wow. I didn’t have a DNR tattoo or anything,” he laughed, astonished. “You don’t get hints well, do you?”

        “No, not really.”

        Briefly, Evan could feel a breeze.  Water was falling from the sky in ultra-slow motion.  Connor was staring at him, closer than before. Evan couldn’t breathe right.  

        “Evan, I want you to stop me from killing myself.”

        Evan, unable to help himself, laughed. “I want to stop you from killing yourself too, Connor, but I can’t. You’ve- you’ve been dead for nine years,” he said carefully, like maybe This Connor didn’t know he was dead.

        “I know,” Connor shrugged, then closed the distance between the two of them, taking Evan’s wrist firmly in his hand. “But I found an in,” he smirked, all sharp edges and double meanings.

        Evan barely registered Connor lifting their hands toward the sky, could only stare in awe at Connor. “A-An in?”

        “You bet,” Connor smiled at him.  He’s shorter than Evan remembered.  The light moving in the sky hit just enough that Evan could see Connor’s eyes, and  _ that  _ is when he realized that this was real.  Zoe and Larry always said Connor had blue eyes.  But, just as he looked up into Connor’s eyes, Evan is flooded with the memory of Cynthia telling Evan, while she sipped some fancy white wine, that she missed Connor’s eyes.

        “He had beautiful eyes,” she told him with a sore sadness, her voice both fond and aching. “He- he had beautiful blue eyes, but the one- the right one- his right eye was almost half brown.  It was beautiful, Evan,” and then she had cried and Evan had been useless, only able to give empty assurances that yeah, he liked Connor’s eyes too.

        Evan didn’t remember that detail, though.  Fake Connor only had blue eyes. Evan felt his stomach follow his heart out the door and it fell somewhere below his feet, probably never to be seen again.  He licked his dry, chapped lips, and whispered, “You- you’re real.”

        Connor blinked down at him, unimpressed.  Still, he gave Evan a half-hearted smile. “The sky.”

        “Huh?”

        Connor raised Evan’s wrist even higher, bringing Evan onto his tiptoes.  He distantly, disconnectedly recalled that this was the same wrist he broke all those years ago.  Connor pulled Evan up until they were eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest, Connor looking at Evan in a way that made Evan’s never-to-be-seen-again stomach want to upend itself. 

        “Look at the sky, Evan,” Connor told him.

        Evan did, his head snapping up without thinking about it.  The rain fell slowly around them. The lightning, Evan realized, was not dissipating but collecting.  The little veins of light drew close together and, distantly, Evan understood that he was going to be struck.

        “Tallest thing here,” Evan mumbled, watching with rapt attention as light connected together as a single point and broke through a sea of thick, rolling black clouds to meet him.  Connor held his wrist higher, but Evan was reaching on his own. Stupidly, distantly, disconnectedly, he was reaching to touch the lightning. It fell steadily to meet him. His hair rose on end, his cheeks burned hot, his skin sizzled and tingled unpleasantly and Evan still stretched his fingers out.

_         Anya,  _ he thought.  _ Alana.  Henry. _

        His fingers reached, hyperextending.

        Connor sucked in a breath and lowered his head, bracing himself.

        All Evan could see was  _ light _ .  He touched lightning, and the lightning touched back.

        He woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the dealio. i'm depressed and comments make me happy and motivated. validate me.
> 
> uhhhhh Mike Faist's right eye has the heterochromia right? don't correct me i'm not going back in and changing it. (actually please correct me if I'm wrong or it'll bug the f**k outta me)
> 
> find me on the hell site of tumblr @weirdshitdotnet


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 2016. Heidi is still a helicopter parent, Jared is still a douche, Connor is still mean, Zoe is still too good to be true, and Evan is... less of a mess? The hallways sure do whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you hoes thought I was gonna abandon this shit? hA! Girls, guys, and otherwise, let it be known that DEH owns my sweet ass. Also, I write when I have insomnia... I always have insomnia.

    And suddenly, the year was 2016.  

    The memory of that year in Evan’s mind was one conglomerate of horrible, painful feelings.  It was full of things Evan wished he could just forget already. It, to his present, was still one of the worst years of his life.

    August 22nd, 2016 was a special date for Evan in many ways.  It was an exact month off from his secret suicide attempt. It was the first day of his last year of high school.  It was also the day Connor Murphy would go into a park late at night with a bottle of pills and never come back. It was truly a turning point in Evan’s life.

    When Evan woke back up, he didn’t wake up from slumber like one would anticipate.  He woke in his seventeen-year-old self, already awake with his old laptop propped up in his lap.  A document was open, the cursor blinking slowly as it anticipated his words. Sweat was collecting on his hairline, he could feel it, his heart hammering unsteadily in his chest.  This document changed his life, no-  _ ruined  _ his life.  He shut it, closing his eyes and counting back from one hundred.  He got to about sixty before Heidi was knocking on his door in her scrubs, a twenty dollar bill caught between her fingers.

    “So you just decided not to eat last night?” She asked him, raising an eyebrow cheekily to lighten her expression but her smile was tight and concerned.

    He was so stunned to see his mom, now ten years younger, that all he could do was blink owlishly at her and mumble, “I, um…”

    She sighed, her body sagging forward. “You’re a senior in high school, Evan.  You need to be able to order dinner for yourself if I’m at work. You can do it all online now.  You don’t have to talk to anyone on the phone. I know you don’t like the phone.”

    He remembered this conversation, kind of.  He remembered it because it was happening again and it was familiar.  He had hindsight to help him, too, and that was always twenty-twenty. “No, I-I know.  I’m sorry, I really- I just forgot, honest.” He remembered that last time they had this conversation, he had stuttered out some argument about how she was wrong, he would have to talk to the delivery man and stand silently while he made change.  It was a fear Evan still struggled with from time to time, but not even close to as badly as he did as a teenager. “You’re right, though. I’m- I’m really trying. I’m going to be a lot better.” He could promise her that- he already knew he would.

    Heidi softened a little, slouching against his doorframe.  Her smile was still tired and concerned, but it lost the I’m-Trying-To-Be-Really-Positive-For-You edge.  Her eyes looked over him fondly. “No, I know. I know you are, sweetie. Look, you even got yourself up and ready for school without me!  It’s like you hardly even need me anymore.” She laughed a strained sound that betrayed her own anxiety.

    Evan stood and walked over to her, hugging her awkwardly with his cast.  Heidi made a surprised, but pleased sound, hugging him back tightly. In his present, Evan hadn’t seen his mom in months.  With the kind of twisted irony life loved so much, Heidi had ended up as a paralegal at the same law office Larry Murphy worked for.  Maybe it wasn’t  _ that  _ coincidental; the town was small and only had one or two small law firms.  He remembered her telling him that it had been awkward at first, but that once Heidi reached out to him, Larry was very receptive to her apologies and they formed a very close work relationship.  Even Cynthia and Heidi were friends. But being a paralegal was busy work, and Heidi couldn’t always afford to miss it in order to visit Evan. It was probably close to six months since he had last seen her.

    “Nervous, baby?” She asked, swaying side to side like she was rocking an infant and not her seventeen-year-old son.

    He nodded into her shoulder. “Yeah, a bit.”

    She pulled him back by the shoulders and faced him, giving him a hopeful smile. “Well, just so you know, I’m already proud of you.  Really. I am.”

    “Thanks, mom.”

    She squeezed him one last time before stepping around him and into his room, opening up his bedside drawer. “Are you good on refills, hon?”

    He started pulling on his shoes and packing up his things. “Mm, yeah, I think so.”

    “I scheduled an appointment for you with Dr. Sherman for this afternoon.  I know, I know you already have one for next week, but I thought you could use something a little sooner,” she said, glancing over at him to gauge his reaction.

    He smiled tightly.   _ That’s right, therapy again. _ “Sounds great, mom.”

    She smiled back, hopeful like she was desperate to believe in something.  “How are the letters going?”

    “Letters?”

    “The pep talks? The letters to yourself Dr. Sherman wants you to write? ‘Dear Evan Hansen, this is going to be a good day and here’s why,’ remember?  They’re supposed to help you build your confidence.” She flexed mockingly in the adorably dorky way only mothers can do. “Seize the day and all that.”

    “Oh!” He exclaimed. “Right, those- those letters.  Yeah, I- I started one. I’m gonna- I was going to finish it at school and print it at the- in the computer lab.”

    She moved her weight from one leg to the other, watching as he shuffled his laptop into his bag.  “Good! Okay, great, I’ll let you finish getting ready. I know- I didn’t have enough time to make a  _ huge  _ breakfast or anything, but I’ve got eggs and toast waiting for you?” 

    He nodded, busying himself with his bag and his shoes. “Yep, okay, thanks- thank you, Mom.  I’ll be- I’ll be down there soon.”

    He watched her feet walk back out of his room, closing the door behind her but not  _ completely  _ shutting it.  It was a habit that used to drive him crazy, but when Evan turned twenty-one Heidi would confess that she did little things like that because, despite not knowing about his attempt at the time, she just kind of  _ knew.   _ “Mother’s instinct,” she had called it as she lounged on the couch with her feet in his lap and a glass of wine in her hand. “By August that year, I just kinda  _ knew  _ something had changed.  That you- you didn’t wanna live as much as you used to.  So I just- I would leave the door cracked or the volume low so I could hear you.” So now he looked at his ajar door with a sad smile, finishing off the last knot of his shoes and pulling his backpack on.  

    He looked at the calendar of sports cars that hung crookedly on his wall - a joke Hanukkah gift Jared got him to show off how  _ manly  _ Evan was when he “finally got laid.” August 25th looked back at him.  August 25th was a Thursday, the last block in the road to Friday, and thus, the end of the first week of school.  Nothing was  _ wrong  _ with August 25th, but also,  _ everything went wrong on August 25th. _

    It was the day after Connor was found, and it was the day Evan first met Cynthia and Larry Murphy.  It was the day his lie started. It was the day Evan would dig himself a hole he would not dig himself back out of.  In a sense, it was the end of a beginning and the beginning of an end.

    Evan took the Sharpie in his pocket, the one he would use to ask people to sign his cast, and circled the 22nd and 25th a few times.  In the margin of the 22nd, he wrote,  _ Connor,  _ and in the 25th he wrote,  _ The Letter.   _ He drew an arrow from the 22nd to the 25th and wrote,  _ Don’t let it happen again.   _ Then, meticulously, he turned the calendar ahead to September.

    “Evan! C’mon, sweetie, I know it’s scary, but we gotta leave-”

    “ _ Coming! _ ” He yelled back, capping and pocketing the Sharpie.

    He gave one last look to the muscle car and what lay on the other side of it and hustled downstairs to meet his mom in the kitchen.

 

    “How was your summer?”

    Evan whipped around, blinking in astonishment at Alana.  She was almost ten years younger, her shoulders nearly earrings and arms wrapped tightly around her books.  Her lips were pressed tightly together, politely waiting for the chance to speak -  _ any  _ chance to speak.

    Evan swallowed, offering an awkwardly smile. “Oh.  Fine, Alana, how was-”

    “Mine was productive,” she cut in. “I did three internships and ninety hours of community service.  I know,” she giggled, then widened her eyes for effect, “wow.”

    Evan’s own eyes widened, nodding his head along. “Yeah, totally, wow.”

    “Even though I was so busy, I still made some great friends. Or, well, acquaintances, more like.”

Evan hiked his backpack up by the straps, rocking on his heels. “You can- you can just say  _ friends,  _ Alana.”

She pursed her lips at him. “Mm, well, no, because that’s not a totally accurate description.  There is a distinctive line between acquaint-  _ Oh! _ ” She gasped, a hand coming to her chest as she looked down at his arm. “Oh my God.  What happened to your arm?”

Evan blinked down at his arm and frowned.  He shook his head, sighing, “Oh, uh, nothing really, I just-”

“My grandma broke her hip getting into a bathtub in July.  That was the beginning of the end, the doctors said. Because then she died.” She stilled, her eyes big and round and staring  _ into  _ Evan.  Evan felt sweat collect on his neck, a squeaky “what?” on the tip of his tongue, before she burst back into her practiced cheerfulness and waved, “Happy first day!” And off she went like she had never even been.

A hand suddenly clapped Evan on the back a bit too harshly to be totally friendly, startling him. “Is it weird to be the first person in history to break their arm from jerking off too much or do you consider that an honor?” His breath stuttered a little in his chest and he turned over his shoulder to regard Jared coolly.  He shrugged off Jared’s hand and walked towards his locker. He pretended to be busy with his combo, but Jared went on undeterred, “Paint me the picture: you’re in your bedroom, you’ve got Zoe-”

“Why the hell do you want me to paint you the picture of me  _ masturbating _ , Jared?” Evan hissed, giving Jared a scathing look.  That seemed to shock Jared into silence, just long enough for Evan to sigh and say, “I fell out of a tree.”

Jared cleared his throat, attempting to recover coolly from his shock. “You fell out of a tree?  What are you, like, an acorn?”

Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you even talking to me? Where’s all your cool camp friends?” 

“Dude,  _ where  _ is this attitude coming from?” Jared hissed quietly to him, leaning in close like the entire hallway was listening to them.

Evan slammed his locker, quieting most in their section of the hallway.  He turned to Jared with a sharp look and said, “It’s coming from the fact that I just told you I  _ broke my fucking arm  _ \- almost a month ago, by the way - and you want to make a joke out it.  That’s so shitty, even for you.” Evan had his books under one arm, his posture upright and expression closed off.  Evan had  _ dreamt  _ of this moment: making Jared feel like he felt.  It was immature, sure, but not unwarranted.

Desperate to recover, Jared locked onto the first thing he saw: Connor Murphy.  Before Evan even had the thought to speak first and stop him, Jared had his hands in his front pockets and leaned forward conspiratorially, shooting a delighted look at Connor. “Hey, Connor!  I’m loving the new hair length. Very school shooter chic.”

“ _ Jared! _ ” Evan snapped before Connor could, glaring at Jared.

The hallway had mostly gone silent, making Evan’s voice sound even louder.  Jared frowned back at him, annoyed that his smooth recovery was being hijacked. “I was kidding, Evan.  It was a joke. Connor knows I’m joking.”

“I don’t, actually,” Connor spat at him, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Evan scoffed at Jared. “Joking?  Are you just  _ joking _ ?  Right, like how you  _ joke  _ with me all the time?  Jared, has anyone ever told you that people are supposed to  _ laugh  _ at jokes?  Because do you hear that right now?” He made an obtuse gesture with his arms. “No one’s laughing.  There is nothing to laugh at when you’re being a fucking asshole.” Evan looked around the hallway, hoping someone would back him up.  But no one did, not even Connor. Instead, everyone was looking at  _ him,  _ not Jared, like he had grown a second head.  He wilted, slowly but surely, under the speculation.

A hand grabbed the front of his shirt.  He wrapped his own hand around Jared’s wrist to prevent himself from being choked. “Just because you grew a backbone over summer doesn’t mean you get to be a fucking dick about it,” Jared snapped, voice low for only Evan to hear.

Evan, rather than wilting further, hardened his gaze against Jared’s and shoved him off. “Standing up to a bully doesn’t make me a dick,” he said, but Jared didn’t stick around to hear it.  He was already slouching off towards his homeroom which, due to having such close last names, meant they’d see more of each other sooner than either probably wanted. Evan glanced over at Connor who had yet to recover from the shock of seeing Evan Hansen stand up to someone, unlike the rest of the hallway which had already returned to normal.  “I’m- uh, I’m sorry about Jared- about what he said, I mean,” Evan tried, the hand that was unbroken wringing the hem of his shirt. Connor’s eyes only narrowed, watching Evan like a kid with a magnifying glass over an ant. Evan definitely felt like an ant, even without Connor’s gaze exploring him. Evan boldly took a few steps closer. He reached out with his casted arm to say, “I’m sorry if he-”

“Don’t,” Connor hissed, shoving Evan’s arm away from him.  The sharpness of the movement and the pressure jarred him, sending an unpleasant shock through the nerves of his wrist where his arm broke and then through the rest of his arm, up into his shoulder.  He gave a strangled gasp, wrenching his arm back towards himself protectively. “Don’t fucking touch me. I didn’t need your wimpy ass to fight my battles, and I  _ don’t  _ need a fucking hug, or whatever the hell you were going to do.” He slammed his locker closed. “What the hell was that about?  Was that staged? To show what a fucking idiot I am? That I needed the biggest pussy of the whole class to stand up for me?” He spat, each question bringing him further and further into Evan’s personal bubble.  

He felt his face heat up unpleasantly, the grossly familiar feeling of dread settle like a snake in his gut. “N-No, of course not, I-”

“ _ Fuck  _ you,” Connor hissed, walking around him and giving him a hard shoulder-check on his way.  He could hardly disappear into the sea of students when most hopped out of their way to avoid him, but he stalked away from Evan nonetheless.

However, Evan remembered he was back in high school for a reason.  Uselessly, he turned and called, “Connor, wait-!” but it was pointless.  He was gone. Evan tried to steady his breathing, count back from one hundred, but panic was setting in.  He held his arm to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back against his locker.  _ Connor is going to kill himself tonight,  _ the devil on his shoulder reminded him.   _ And then, what happens to you? Will you just be stuck here, doomed to ruin lives again? Will you disappear like you never even were? Maybe you should go climb another tree before- _

__ “Hey,” someone said in front of him, their voice wonderfully familiar.  Evan’s eyes snapped open and there she was, Zoe Murphy, standing in front of him with both hands on her backpack straps and leaning her weight from foot to foot.  She offered an apologetic smile, shyly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry about my brother. I saw him push you. He’s-”

“Troubled,” Evan cut in before she could finish, giving her his own apologetic smile when she looked taken back. “I know.  It’s okay, he really- he just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Uh huh,” she said in a skeptical voice, her eyebrow raising suspiciously. “And that’s- that’s why you’re holding your arm like that?”

Immediately, he dropped his hold and held his hands up placatingly.  He laughed, “Really, I’m okay. I know he’s-”

“A psychopath,” Zoe finished, crossing her arms and giving him a look that dared him to tell her otherwise. “Evan, right?”

“I- sorry?”

“That’s your name?  Evan?”

“Yes!” He said with probably too much enthusiasm.  This conversation wasn’t any less nerve-wracking the second time around. “Yes, Evan, that’s my name.  You- You’re Zoe, right? Zoe Murphy? I’ve seen you in the jazz band.”

She smiled, the recognition clearly surprising her. “Oh, yeah!  That’s me, mediocre guitar player,” she gave an uncharacteristically self-deprecating laugh.  

Evan blinked, stunned by the odd switch in character. “You aren’t-”

The bell rang, startling them both.  For a second, it had felt like it was just the two of them in the whole world.  He’d forgotten that effect Zoe Murphy just had about her. She eagerly stepped back away from him and waved, “I’ve got to get to class.”

“Yeah, same, see you around,” he waved back.

Unlike her brother, Zoe easily disappeared into the flood of students.  Evan stole away into the boys’ bathroom to splash some water on his face.  He took deep, even breaths, and then dried off his face with a paper towel.   _ You have after school.  He’ll come to the computer lab after school,  _ he had to remind himself.  

_ That’s your last chance.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @weirdshitdotnet
> 
>  
> 
> edit: apparently y'all couldn't scream at me because my dumb ass had all my comm settings off. my bad. proceed to scream. also validate me by following me, don't be a hoe (jk be a hoe if you want just follow me i'm a desperate piece of garbage)


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